


Stand by

by JauntyHako



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Hancock and Nick being sweet with and on each other, M/M, glimpses into teenaged!Hancock's life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct follow up to "Shutdown", with added family angst. </p>
<p>Nick muses about Hancock's past and relationship with his brother while he gets much needed repairs. He tears open old wounds and makes Hancock hope he can talk to his brother again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand by

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is set before the end game and thus doesn't feature the McDonough-plot twist.
> 
> Also, I debated long and hard with myself if I should give Nick a dick, seeing as it would have been a good opportunity but ultimately decided against. It makes the smut a bit more challenging to write, but I feel just slapping a dick on that dude is a bit of a cop-out. Let me know what you think and also I hope you enjoy :)

“You know, I think it might be easier to just download you into a gen 3 model or something. Fuck.” Skyler cursed for the umpteenth time upon getting zapped by a hot wire. She shook her hand and sucked on her finger, glaring up at Nick as if he was doing it on purpose.

“And lose this handsome mug? Over my dead body.” Hancock pitched in, in the middle of peppering Nick's face with kisses. Nick laughed out of embarrassment more than anything else. He wasn't much one for public displays of affection but he knew what he'd get himself into with Hancock. As long as it was only Skyler, who couldn't generally care less about what her friends got up to as long as they didn't get hurt, he could live with his new boyfriend being a bit handsy. And it was nice getting kissed, audience or no. Hancock, generously, restricted himself to kisses and the odd gentle petting and was otherwise surprisingly modest. He especially enjoyed tracting the lines of Nick's new parts. Most of them were replacements for the hardware damaged by the virus, but they were of much higher quality than his basic frame. Skyler insisted that she'd only chosen materials that were closest to his original build but he couldn't help but suspect her of throwing in a few upgrades. Either that or Hancock's fingers tracing patterns over his spine were charged with electricity. He shuddered at the touch, got reprimanded by Skyler and encouraged by Hancock. He _tried_ to keep still but there was not a chance he could ignore that pleasant buzz.

“Sorry to say, Nick, but whoever built you was tripping balls.” Skyler said, rummaging around somewhere by his coolant pumps. “There's no system in here whatsoever. Honestly, I have no idea how you're even alive. And what does _that_ do? Hold on, let me …”

Something clicked and suddenly music filled the air. Although not a tune any of them recognised it chimed pleasantly through the otherwise silent room as Nick was too mortified to speak and Hancock and Skyler both tried their damndest to keep a poker face. So far Skyler succeeded by a margin, as Hancock had to bite the back of his hand and still couldn't keep his shoulders from shaking.

“Okay, so … let's not flip that switch again.” Skyler said and deactivated the device, the purpose of which eluded them still. The tune, oddly reminiscent of elevator music, stopped and Nick was free to wallow in embarrassment. When Hancock absent-mindedly started humming the tune, it was quite catchy, Nick buried his face in his hands and sent a brief prayer to heaven to take him now.

“Oh, come now, Nicky. So you have a little music box where other people have their spleen. It's cute.”

As if to prove he meant it Hancock took Nick's hands away and kissed the tip of his nose and nuzzled him when Nick wouldn't react. How was he to resist? He pulled Hancock closer until he sat on his lap and let himself be distracted from whatever Skyler did to his innards. He just hoped it wouldn't involve any more music.

Over the next hour the worn out bits of him were dismantled and replaced with whirring, gleaming, top of the line parts that snapped into place as naturally as if they belonged there. Of course, Hancock made sure there were no rough edges by smoothing over every new thing he could find, from the actuators in his legs to the new vertebrae standing in bright platinum-coloured contrast to its older siblings. He showed no hesitation, made no difference between the old parts and the new, except the curiousity that came with something unknown. And that, if nothing else, told Nick he hadn't made a huge mistake agreeing to a relationship with Hancock.

For a long while Hancock had been his only real friend. That was before Ellie came along and some of his old clients stuck around for small talk. Back when Hancock was still just John and looked at him like he was the coolest guy ever. Even when he was still a freckled ginger he'd been a troublemaker, a stark contrast to his older brother who'd been just as likely to play pranks as a kid but mellowed out with age. They both checked in on Nick frequently, especially as children, and so Nick was there to see them grow up more than their parents ever were. The older McDonough took after his parents, turning solemn and ambitious with reaching his teenage years. He always had his eye on politics, made fast friends with everyone and was generally seen as the more promising of the brothers. Compared to that John wore the title of black sheep like a medal. Joking his way through every attempt by his brother, his parents or even Nick, to get him to take life a bit more seriously. Or at least to value it a bit more. He hadn't been thirteen when his brother caught him with some Daytripper, god knew where he'd gotten it, and pulled him practically by the ear to Nick. “Talk some sense into him.” he said, knowing there was no one else John would even consider listening to.

“You're a smart kid. Don't throw that away for a buzz.” Nick said that day, resisting the urge to light up a cigarette. John was smart enough to call him out on his hypocrisy, given the chance.

“You're sayin' I should take up mentats instead?” John asked with his usual attitude, all aloof and pretending Nick's disappointment didn't get to him.

“No, and you know it damn well. Don't make me lecture you, that's the last thing I want.”  
“Then don't.” John snapped. “You're not my father, Nick, I don't need you to tell me what to do. If I wanna get high, I'll damn well get high.”

His sharp tone hurt Nick more than he was comfortable admitting. He dragged his hand over his face.

“It's not just about you. Your brother-”  
“Oh, so that's it.”  
“Let me speak, John, you-”  
“No, no I've heard enough.” As John got up from the creaky little chair, knocking it over in the process, Nick knew he'd lost the fight. “Everywhere I go, it's just 'John, how's your brother' and 'John, is it true your brother has a girlfriend?' and 'John, if you don't behave it will fall back on your brother'. As if I'm out to ruin his career or something. The way people treat me, I don't even exist anymore. I could get my name changed and move to another city and no one would even notice.”  
“That's not true, John. I would notice.”

“Yeah? You don't give a shit about me, Nicky. To you I'm just the idiot teen that my brother forces you to deal with. I'm nothing to you, and you're nothing to me. Don't pretend we're friends.”

He stormed out and left Nick behind in his tiny office. Nick reached for his cigarettes as soon as the door slammed shut, dropped the pack and bent down to pick it up. It took him three tries to light one up and when he did he burned up half of it with one drag. He finished one, lit up the next and stared at the door. Hoped for John to come back, even if just to argue. He'd take a good old-fashioned fight over John leaving him like he really didn't mean anything to him. But John didn't come back. Not that day nor for weeks after.

 

He was pulled back into the present by Skyler's cursing. Blinking to chase the old memories away he turned his attention to her. He hadn't thought about those days in a long while. Some things he preferred to stay buried.

“What's wrong?” he asked, when her creative use of the word 'fuck' didn't let up soon.

“You ever get on the wrong side of a flame thrower? Because stuff's in here that's melted together. I can't get to it without my lasers.”

Hancock was on his feet before Nick could say anything.

“Stuff's in your pack right? I'll go get it.” he said and was out the door before Skyler had finished her affirmation that it was. She shook her head but Nick saw the smile she tried to hide. She pretended to be real busy wiping her hands on a rag and stretching as she got up, surveying her handiwork so far.

Nick had to admit she hadn't done half bad a job. New skin grafts protected his torso and back, still a bit sensitive but hardy and, most importantly, removable for any eventual repairs. It was the main reason he'd always been against getting replacements. Ripping your own skin off to get at the inside wasn't half as fun as it sounded. But these were like little panels and fitted seamlessly into his existing frame. Mostly seamlessly, anyway. But then again, colourwise he'd always been patchwork. Skyler made herself comfortable on the other memory pod, popping some buffout while Nick lit himself a cigarette, calming his nerves. He needed it after that impromptu trip to memory land. He didn't like remembering a time where he and Hancock had been anything but best buds.

“So, what were you thinking about just now?” Skyler said as if she read his mind. Nick shrugged. “Just some old stories. Nothing important.”  
“So tell me. Unless it's dirty. Then I don't want to know.”

“It's not dirty. Just remembered what Hancock used to be like as a youngster.”  
That made Skyler perk up. She was always interested in hearing more about her friends.

“Yeah? What was he like?”

“He was …”

 

“Difficult? That's not the word I'd use to describe him, Nicky.”

“I understand, but he's trying his best.” Nick said as patiently as he could. “He feels like he's not enough compared to you.”

The words 'Who could blame him' stood stark and square on the older McDonoughs face and Nick refused to hear them. He'd come here, hoping to speak to John and mend things between them and found only his older brother, going on at length about how his useless little brother was probably out listening to ghoul propaganda. The phrase wasn't unfamiliar to Nick. Lately more and more ghouls started to advocate for a larger political platform. Their arguments weren't unreasonable, as far as he could tell. They said to root out anti-ghoul bias they needed people in official positions to speak for them and give a good example. Few people listened. John, however, did. He'd never spent much time around the ghouls in the city but now he was rarely found elsewhere.

“I just wanna have a chat with him, that's all. He's not a bad egg, just … confused.”

“I know, I know.” McDonough said and seemed to sag a little. “John's a good boy and he means well. You should hear him talk about what's going on in the field. If he had a smidgen more ambition we could run together, make some serious change. We both been under a lot of stress lately. Getting a foothold in the local politics ain't as easy as I thought it would be. Got frustrated, let it out on John. He thinks I hate him and I certainly haven't done much to prove otherwise. I just keep thinking, if I can only get established, get a job with the mayor, get some breathing room. We could go back to the way things were.”

Nick recognised that forlorn tone well. It was the same of his own inner voice, telling him that in no time everything would be fine. John was slipping away from them and neither knew what to do.

“I'll … go find him. Talk to him. Maybe I can …” He didn't specify what he could, mainly because he didn't know. But he was offered a tired little smile as thanks.

 

Nick found John by the gardens with a group of ghouls. He sat among them as naturally as if he was one of them, bright red hair shining out like a beacon. They all sat in a circle, chatting and arguing while eating noodles.

Marcus saw him first and elbowed one of his friends, pointing at him and whispering. You'd think with the general anti-ghoul bias they would have a spot in their hearts for the old synth, but they were equally as biased as the rest of Diamond City. But most of them were friendly enough, the voices of Marcus and his like not enough to keep Nick away. Annie, an old pre-war ghoul who occasionally helped stitch up Nick's coat, made some space for him in their round. He'd originally only come to see John but it would be rude to decline now and so he sat down, carefully not meeting John's eyes. He feared what he would see in them.

“I know it's unfair.” one of them, Nick thought his name was Thomas, said. “We have to be twice as virtuous, three times as polite to get half the good standing that a smoothskin does. Just look at John, always high as a kite and people still say how sweet he is. No offense, Johnny. You are sweet.”  
Nick chanced a look and saw John wink and grin. He looked relaxed, downright happy. Perhaps the company did him good. Perhaps he was on drugs.

“So are you.” he said. By the looks on the ghouls' faces, blushing and smiling, they believed him. Jesus, his brother was right. If he put his mind to it, John would have Diamond City in his pocket by the end of the month. He listened with half an ear to Thomas' speech, keeping an eye on John the entire time. Truth be told, he thought he was here out of some rebellious streak, something to spite his family in the upper stands. Instead he genuinely seemed to be interested in the lives of these people. It was refreshing to see John engaging with others, being his usual lively, happy self. But although Nick tried to suppress it, there was a tiny pang at the thought that maybe John didn't need, or want, him back in his life. He sat and waited, never said much and pretended not to stare whenever John looked over. Which happened rarely enough. If Nick didn't know any better he would have said John ignored him.

Night had already fallen when one by one the ghouls dispersed and went back to their homes, leaving Nick and John alone. John, too, made to leave, but Nick held him back.

“Wait. We need to talk.”

“What the hell do you want?” John asked and gone was his carefree attitude. What had he done to alienate him like that? He still sat on the ground looking up at John who halfway turned around but not meeting his eyes. Nick searched for words, found none. But he had to say something. Even as he wracked his brain for something he watched John's patience wearing thin.

“Look, if you don't have anything to say-”  
“I'm sorry.”  
It was the only thing Nick could think of but at least it seemed to be getting John's attention. He turned around fully, apparently prepared to listen.

“I'm sorry for what happened a few weeks ago. I didn't mean to put pressure on you by comparing you to your brother. You're not him, I know that, and it's a good thing.” This was thin ice to walk on. The subject of family became more and more sore by the day. “I think the person you are is swell, as it is. Walking past you and not stopping to even say hello, it ain't my idea of the good life.”

John huffed, dragged his hands through his hair which became even more bedraggled than usual.

“You don't get it, do you? I don't want you as a friend, I want you …” he trailed off, fixed his eyes in the distance. Nick waited patiently for him to continue. “Nevermind. We can be friends, just … don't act like my father, okay? It's creeping me out.”  
“Promise.” Nick said, beyond relief and not caring for the moment that John was still distanced. Time would tell if they could keep their friendship alive.

 

“Sounds like a brat to me.” Skyler said, deeply unimpressed by a teenaged John Hancock. Nick, who'd started on his third cigarette without realising, chuckled.

“Something like that. Always had good intentions, though. Even then … he was in a bad place with the family but he cared.”

“Who're you talkin' about?” Hancock said, having just come in and threw Skyler her backpack with her tools. She immediately went back to work while Hancock immediately took his place on Nick's lap again.

“Who do you think?” Skyler muttered, switching on a small laser scalpel that gave Nick the willies.

“Careful with that, will ya?”  
Skyler didn't grace this with an answer and instead set to work. On account of having to concentrate on the fine inner workings of the best synth sleuth in the Commonwealth she didn't talk much, of which Nick was quite appreciative. Not less because Hancock had already started feeling him up again. Under different circumstances Nick might have been taken aback by how clingy he was.

But remembering the good old days, which in hindsight seemed to be more like the bad old days, he put two and two together. Maybe he wasn't the only one who'd nursed a little crush on his best friend for a while.

“You talked about me? What did you tell her?” Hancock said, tracing the lines where the new skin on his torso met the old. It drove shivers down Nick's back. All of a sudden he couldn't wait until they were alone, to test out all that sensitive new equipment Skyler stuffed him full with.

“Only the best.” Nick said, cupping Hancock's neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The sound of the laser scalpel working unnerved him. The kiss was a welcome distraction, more so because Hancock sensed what was going on with him and petted him gently. He must have run from the state house and back because his body gave off heat like nobody's business. Ghouls, on account of their ruined skin, didn't really sweat, which could become a problem especially in summer. But right now Nick relished in the warmth, seeing as he'd been half naked ever since Skyler began her repairs. He hadn't realised just how much broke down during the virus attack, how lucky he was to have gotten away with his life.

“We were talking about your brother.” Skyler said after breaking off a chunk of Nick he hoped he didn't need. It was badly mangled and indeed looked like someone held a blowtorch to it. With the many run-ins with raiders and equally no-goods Nick didn't bother to remember the specific encounter that brought him this little goodie.

“My brother? What's there to talk about?” Hancock said, still sounding like he didn't have a care in the world. If it hadn't been for his clenched fists in Nick's trousers he would have bought it, too. Skyler shrugged.

“Not much really. Character's not half as interesting as you. Just wondered. Does he actually know you went ghoul?”

Hancock looked down at his hands in Nick's lap.

_Family._ Nick thought _Sore topic._

“No.” he said at last, sighing deeply. “No, he doesn't.”

 

Skyler finished her repairs late in the night. Originally they planned to make for Diamond City after she was done but there was no sense traveling this late. The Commonwealth was dangerous even without the added handicap of near total darkness. While Skyler went down to the Rexford, respectfully declining Hancock's offer to crash at his place, he and Nick made their way to the Old State House, hand in hand. Some tweaks to his hardware processor made even the old parts of his skin about twice as sensitive as usual, a feeling enhanced by the emotional impact of what he was doing and with whom. Not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined ending up with this man. He, old and worn-out, even with his latest upgrades. Even as a ghoul Hancock was handsome and his charisma made up for what looks he lost. Nick could be persuasive if he wanted to, but he tended to be a private man and had a hard time striking up an emotional connection with anyone.

“You were shaking an awful lot back at the den.” Hancock said casually upon entering his home. The smell of chemicals and dirty laundry hung in the air. It should have been off-putting, instead it merely smelled … like home. Hancock led Nick directly to his bedroom.

“Not wastin' any time, are you?” Nick said with a smile. “What about my shaking?”

Hancock pushed him onto the bed and crawled up over him, shucking his jacket and boots in the process. The hat he kept on and if Nick was any judge it would stay on. He leaned up to meet him halfway for a kiss. He'd never get enough of those.

“Figured you are a bit more sensitive than before. How about we find out just _how_ sensitive, huh?”

Nick nearly started shaking by the suggestive tone alone. He stripped himself of his trenchcoat but when he got to loosening his tie Hancock stopped him.

“Not so fast, love. Wanna take my time with you. Waited for this too long to hurry it up now.”

Nick's hands fell to his sides as Hancock looped his finger around the knot of his tie and pulled it open.

God, he could feel the pull of it at the back of his neck, had to close his eyes when Hancock pulled it off slowly and it slithered away, subtle but unmistakenably _there_ even through the thick cotton of his shirt. It ended up on the floor and usually Nick would object to that, insist that if they took their time with making out they could take the time to fold their clothes away neatly but then Hancock and his clever fingers were at his collar, snapping the button open with a flick and laid his throat bare. The new skin covered his neck up until his jaw. He buttoned up his shirt high and pulled the collar of his trenchcoat up to protect it from the stinging wind that Hancock insisted was just a breeze. He sincerely hoped he'd get used to the new sensation soon. Maybe not too, soon, though, seeing as Hancock traced the fringe between old and new skin. He seemed fascinated with these places, observed each reaction he got by touching them intently. Nick wasn't about to complain. He tilted his head back a little to give him more access, couldn't suppress a little moan when Hancock leaned down and kissed the place where his adam's apple would have been.

“So, how's the new wrapping hold up? Feel like real skin?”

“No.” Hancock said, and Nick's heart sank. “Feels better.”

One kiss became many, a path along his throat and jaw up to his earlobes. His warm breath ghosted through Nick's system, picked up by the internal sensors and providing an entirely different sensation. Decades as a synth made Nick believe he knew his body, but this was nothing like he knew. It wasn't comparable to anything, not even the memories of sex he had from the original Nick. No human ever had to process someone's breath traveling through their head and as alienating as it sounded, Nick wouldn't mind more of it. To that came the unique texture of Hancock's skin that made it impossible to miss any little touch for its sheer intensity. Another two buttons were opened, pressure rising, then his fingertips brushing over Nick and then the release, baring him to Hancock's mouth and tongue. Oh God, his tongue dragging along just under his collarbones, first pleasant pressure, then heat and wetness coming together to overwhelm him when he reached the new skin. Nick shivered, arched against Hancock not caring if he made a fool of himself. He was as aroused as he hadn't been in years and he was still wearing most of his clothes. If out of mercy or because he really didn't think Nick just a little bit desperate, Hancock didn't make fun of him. In fact, he looked as needy as Nick felt, eyes wide and mouth half-open, looking down at him with so much wonder Nick had to turn his head. He wasn't self-conscious, not as such, but this much adoration in one man directed at him was more than he could handle just now.

Hancock went back to what he did best, exploring every part of Nick's body, making sure he'd touched and kissed every inch he found before popping open the next button of his shirt and starting all over again. If that wasn't enough to drive Nick crazy with want and need, Hancock kept talking. Low murmurs mostly, half of which Nick didn't entirely make out, but what he did understand made something coil in his stomach. Gratitude to whatever streak of fate brought them together, unbearingly much love for the man over him, but fear also that this couldn't possibly last, that hell would freeze over before Hancock meant him when he said:

“So gorgeous … damn, look at you, can't get enough of you … not gonna let you out of my eyes ever again … wanna see how you look when you cum, make you lose your mind, wanna see you desperate … just on the edge, gonna keep you there, gonna draw it out … hell, I'm the luckiest ghoul in the world …”

The litany of endearments continued. At some point Nick wondered if Hancock was even aware that he said these things out loud but then he stopped caring because Hancock finally drew him up in a sitting position and pulled off his shirt and then his own. They kissed, deep and slow and Nick used the opportunity to give back some of which Hancock gave him. He wrapped his arms around him, one on his shoulderblades, keeping him close, the other in the dip of his lower back. Nick followed the path of his spine, extra careful with his skeletal hand. Without pressure nodes it was hard to get an image of how much pressure he was applying. If Hancock's sighs were any indication he got it right. He arched his back, hummed when the hand on his shoulder blades wandered higher, over his shoulders and down his arms. Scratching lightly at the sensitive skin of the crook of his elbow rewarded Nick with a gentle bite to his lip, followed by Hancock's tongue against his teeth. He opened his mouth, gasped when Hancock surged forward and explored his mouth with the same thoroughness he'd employed on the rest of his body. He licked along his teeth, against the roof of his mouth, pushed his tongue against Nick's and moaned deeply when he reciprocated the kiss, pushed back. Nick tasted Hancock, alcohol, the sharp sting of jet, the fruity taste of his favourite Mentats brand. For years he'd told himself that it was better this way, that he and John didn't have a future together, no matter what he said. John had been young, not even fully out of his teens and Nick insisted he didn't know what he was talking about, that he could have anyone. But God, he had missed this.

 

“Nicky, oh god, Nicky …” was the first thing John said when Nick opened the door for him, soaked from top to bottom, shivering and crying. Nick pulled him inside without a further word, had him out of coat and shoes and went off to find some spare clothes while John got rid of the rest, drying himself off with an old torn plaid shirt Nick never wore. He found an old sweater, several sizes too big even for him, that was largely undamaged, warm and soft. John ended up wearing it like a dress, the sleeves slipping constantly over his hands. He stood by the door as if he expected Nick to chase him away again, wouldn't say a word when Nick asked what happened. He had a clue or two but didn't want to push.

“Make yourself comfortable on my bed. There's some blankets there you can use. I'll be right there.”

John followed like he'd been given an order, his bare feet slapping on the ground as he made his way to Nick's bedroom. It wasn't that he needed the sleep, the bed had come with the house, but he tended to get cold, especially during the winter months, and had over the years stockpiled blankets to burrow under while he cursed the fact that the Institute had build in plenty to cool his processors but nothing to keep him warm. He made coffee and added as much sugar as would dissolve in the cup. Too bad Brahmin didn't give any milk. Nothing drinkable, anyway. But with or without milk, John appreciated the mug of coffee, cupping it and leeching off the heat. His teeth still chattered and he still hadn't said a word beyond “Nicky”. Outside the rain poured, a storm the likes of which he had only ever seen in Nick's memories, ravaging the Commonwealth. Everyone who had a home stayed there and prayed the roofs would hold under the raging wind. The agency was protected from most of it, huddled between the other buildings like it was. There was a draft that could knock you right over in the narrow alley outside, but within it was dry and relatively warm. Nick shot the occasional look to John. He'd stopped crying, at least, and sipped his coffee. His hair he hadn't bothered to dry, it was still dripping onto his shoulders. Nick made a disapproving little noise and pulled out another blanket, throwing the edge of it over John's head. Gently and methodically he rubbed his hair dry, deliberately didn't think about how close he was and that John let him do this. They were back on speaking terms but their relationship was strained and Nick feared it would never go back to normal. This felt almost too intimate in comparison but neither he nor John made any attempt at breaking contact.

“Dinner with the family didn't go well?” Nick said while rubbed the tips of his hair between the blanket. John nodded. He made a sound like an aborted sob and clutched his mug tighter.

“He's running for mayor. You heard?”

“I head.” Nick confirmed but nothing more. He squeezed John's shoulder to reassure him. If it worked or not, John kept talking.

“Dad was so proud. Called him 'our little politician'. Said he'd vote for him. I said I'd rather vote for a super mutant. Dad didn't like that much.”  
Nick could imagine. Patrick McDonough was a good man but he played favourites ever since one brother went into politics and the other into pharmacy.

“Shouted a lot. Mum shouted, too. How lately we can't have a single dinner without arguing. Told me to keep my mouth shut. Told my brother to keep the politics in the office and told Dad he was gonna sleep on the couch.” He smiled weakly at that, his mother dishing out equally consoling him somewhat. “No one listened. Suddenly everyone was standing up and screaming at each other. Couldn't take it anymore. Left, told them I wasn't gonna sit on one table with a bigot.” John stared into his cup, swirling the dreg as if he wanted to read his future in it. Nick wound it ouf his hands and wrapped his arms around him. The boy was wound tight as a spring and trembled badly, his head against Nick's chest, his hands around his back, holding on desperately.   
“I think I made Mum cry.” he said and choked back a sob. Nick patted his head.

“Cry, it's alright. Better out than in.”

As if just waiting for the permission John started to cry in earnest. Nick held him through it, only muttering the occasional reassurance that it was alright, he was there and would keep being there.

“It's not fair. He's doing this because of me. All that anti-ghoul bullshit that's not him. He wants to hurt them to get to me and it's not fair.”

“I know.”

Nick huffed when John hit his chest in frustration. He was too upset to seriously hurt Nick but he still made sure that John put his hands on his back again.

“He knows I'm friends with them and he wants to put me in my place. There's nothing I have that he can't take away. How was I supposed to know? They'll be hurt because of me and there's nothing I can do about it. Why does he have to be like this? It's like he doesn't even care anymore. He didn't used to hate ghouls. He was friends with some, at least he tried to be. A week ago he came with me down to the fields, claimed he wanted to know what I was doing, take an interest in my life and all that bull. Dumbass that I am I believed him. Led him right to them and he talked and talked and he was all smiles and everything. I thought it was gonna be okay, that we were gonna be okay. And then next thing I know I see those fucking posters all over town. Mankind for McDonough. Have you seen that slogan?”  
Nick had. The words had sent a spike of fear through him, as well. People needed him and for that matter he was just one man, if a synthetic one. You couldn't run an entire campaign on the bias against one person. The ghouls however were there in numbers. Numbers, John's brother apparently hoped, enough to stoke the flames of prejudice. Still he couldn't help but fear what might come after. Things didn't bode well and if the mob came a-knocking he feared they wouldn't make a difference between him and the ghouls.

“He's just runnin' his mouth. Remember how old Lincoln promised he'd get plumbing in every house?” Nick said despite not believing it himself. It was different and John said as much.

“Plumbing is different than inciting people to riot. He doesn't even need to win. If he shouts loud enough people are gonna think it's alright to hate ghouls openly now. He won't be able to control them.”

Damn the boy for being as bright as he was. The brothers may have grown into stark opposites but they both grasped human nature well. John knew that hate spread fast and his brother likely did as well.

“Poison goes where poison's welcome. Folks here won't rise to the bait. They're smarter than that.”

John looked up, eyes tired and blood-shot.

“I hope you're right. I really hope you're right.”

Nick lightly scratched John behind the ear. For all the misery that the older McDonough brought, Nick was glad he was allowed to look John in the eye again. They were closer than they'd been in months and Nick realised how much his friend had changed. New lines in his face, new shadows under his eyes, his lips chapped and red. He used to bite them when he was nervous. Seemed like he kept that habit up. But damn if they didn't look inviting. Realising what he was thinking about his best friend he tore his eyes away, only to find something had changed in John's. He didn't get a chance to ask. John kissed him, hard and desperate, gripping Nick's shirt and keeping him down with him. His lips were wet and salty, and Nick licked off the tears before he thought better. He knew he needed to pull away that this had been going on longer than it should have already but then John's tongue pushed past his teeth and into his mouth and tasted him, robbed him of breath he didn't need. This was wrong for so many reasons and the moment John pulled away to gasp for breath Nick remembered every single one of them. When John tried to get another kiss Nick grabbed his shoulders and kept him at a distance.

“Don't.”

“Nicky, please …”  
“No … we can't. I can't. This isn't a good idea.”

“Why? I want it. You want it. Isn't that enough?”  
Nick wished it was. He wanted to kiss John again, chase the taste of mentats, the hint of camphor, kiss him and not stop until he kissed all that sadness away. But he couldn't.

“It's not … John, you don't want me. There's … I don't … You can find better.”  
“I can't. Damn it, even if I could, I don't want better. I want you.”  
“You don't know what you're talking about. You're upset and I'm the only one here, it's only natural you'd-”  
“Don't do this to me.” John begged, fighting against Nick's iron grip on his shoulders. “I know what I want. You're a good man, I love you, please, I love you-”  
“Stop.”  
“Let me prove it, I'll do anything-”  
“I said, stop.”

“Please, just give me chance, I know you want it, too. I've seen the way you look at me, I can make you feel good-”  
“STOP IT.”  
John jerked back as if slapped. For the look on his face Nick might as well have. He hadn't meant to shout. He sat helpless on his end of the bed, wanted to cradle John in a hug but knew that it would send the wrong message. He was forced to watch John cry again, shoulders shaking as he tried to swallow the tears before they fell.

“John, I'm-”  
“Save it.” John said and got up. He was already by the door when Nick realised where he intended to go.

“You can't go outside.” Nick implored him. John pulled his wet trousers on and slipped into his shoes, not bothering to put on socks. He ignored Nick.

“You'll catch your death.”  
He tied his shoelaces so hard he ripped one end off. Cursing he just shoved the laces inside his shoes and reached for his jacket.

“Where will you even go? You don't wanna go home, do you?”

John buttoned up his jacket, taking double as long on account of his trembling fingers.

“Just, go back to bed, stay overnight. I'll keep my distance, we can talk in the morning, or not, but-”  
“I don't want you to keep your distance.” John said. He didn't look at Nick. “But I should have known you'd treat me like this. I know who I am and what I want. I'm not a child anymore and I don't need to be protected from myself. Fuck you, Nick. You're just like my brother.”

And then he was out the door for the second time, leaving nothing but an ice cold gust of wind and an empty coffee mug.

 

“Should I take offense at you spacin' out like that?” Hancock said, thereby bringing Nick back to the immediate attraction. Which wasn't to be scoffed at.

“Would it help if I said I was thinking about you?” Nick teased, gasping when Hancock pinched his back, where the skin grafts were thinnest and stretched over his spine. Refusing to just take without giving back he pulled Hancock even closer, felt with some satisfaction his hard cock against his stomach and bit his neck, smiling at the sharp inhale it drew from him. He worried the wound with his tongue, blew over it. Hancock was like putty in his hands.

“Depends …” he breathed as his hands roamed over Nick's body in search of the most sensitive spots. “ … on what exactly you were thinking.”

“Last time we kissed.” Nick said simply, knowing this confession could go either way. As expected Hancock tensed in his arms, momentarily stopping his efforts at drawing the headiest moans out of Nick. Then he started up again as if nothing had happened.

“Damn. Almost forgot about that.”

“Me, too. Hancock … John, I- I wanted to apologise for a long time.” Nick swallowed a moan as Hancock found one of the few places aside from his face where no skin grafts fit. He'd reached inside and, _oh god_ , touched the skin from the underside, directly stimulating the receptors. It wasn't touch, wasn't something Nick could name. All he knew was that he wanted more of it. When Hancock attempted to pull back he grabbed his hand, a bit roughly perhaps, and put it back where it belonged, biting out a curse at the sheer intensity of it.

“It's okay. No harm done.”  
“I hurt you. I didn't mean to lead you on or reject you or … I don't know. Hell, I watched you grow up, not to mention that I still wasn't comfortable with what I was and … just, let me apologise. I'm sorry I've hurt you.”

Hancock cradled his face with his free hand, worked the other inside him, drawing a desperate keen out of Nick.

“There's nothing you have to apologise for. I shouldn't have you jumped like that. So let's call it even, alright?”  
“Alright.” Nick said, if only because Hancock's hands brought him closer to the edge by the minute.

He rocked against him, cock brushing against Nick but unable to find enough friction to get off. Nick lay down, Hancock followed, and rid them both of their trousers and underwear. They kissed, open-mouthed, wet and dirty while Nick guided one of Hancock's legs over his hip and guided his cock between his thighs, squeezing them tight without hurting Hancock. He whined, licked into Nick's mouth and started rutting against him, hands all over, searching for a way to get, quite literally, under his skin. Nick's breathing grew ragged, the assault of senses almost too much.   
“Fuck, that's good.” Hancock groaned, movements erratic, close to the edge. Nick lost all capability for speech, he was reduced to moans. He was close, so so close, only a little more. Hancock dragged his fingernails over Nick's new skin and that did it. His whole body tensed as pleasure crashed over him, whitening out his vision, drowning out all noise, the only thing he felt Hancock's rapid movements and the warmth between his legs when he spilled his release, every other breath accompanied by a helpless whimper. They held onto each other as they rode out their orgasm.

Hancock was the first to let go to grab a cloth from the nightstand and wipe his cum off Nick's legs. The overstimulation was too much, bordering on painful but Hancock kept him from pulling away.

“Just a quick wipedown. Don't wanna ruin those with rads on the first day.” he said softly. His voice was even more rough than usual. The moment he finished he sank back onto the bed and pulled Nick into his arms. He started tracing lazy patterns over Nick's old skin, which was also sensitive but not as bad as the new parts which seemed to burn and fizzle with electricity at the same time. The rest of his replacements seemed to hold up well so far. Nick made a mental note to get Skyler something nice.

But the cold got to him sooner than he thought it would, his cooling system still a bit too efficient for his tastes. Hancock noticed right away and pulled a heavy blanket over them, better than anything Nick had at the agency. Like this he could stay for a while.

He thought Hancock would be sleepy but apparently he wanted to chat a little. He wondered if he usually got talkative after sex and realised with giddy excitement that he would find out.

“So, I've got to thinking.”  
“Really, what was that like?” Nick said. Hancock laughed.

“Low blow, Valentine. I mean I was thinking about my brother.”

Out of all the things he expected to hear out of a post-coital Hancock's mouth, mention of his blood relatives wasn't one of them.

“Because Skyler and I talked about him earlier?”

Hancock hummed.  
“Yeah. Kinda. I guess I never realised that my brother wouldn't even know I'd gone ghoul, you know? There's maybe a handful of people who know the handsome mayor of Goodneighbor was once a scrawny ginger wearing a leather jacket two sizes to big for him, because _everything_ back then was two sizes too big for me. And none of them would have told my brother. So … and feel free to call me crazy, I wanna talk to him. Maybe if he learns his brother is a ghoul, he'll change his mind about them. Let them into the city again at least.”

“You're crazy.” Nick said without hesitation. “He's … he's not like he used to be. Not to mention that you won't even get close enough.”

“Let that be my worry. If I wanna have a chat with my brother dearest, all of Diamond City couldn't stop me. But … I don't know if I have the guts, that's the problem. If I do this, I can't do it alone. I need you to have my back in this. Otherwise it's just gonna end in tears and one trying to shoot the other.”

Hancock seemed to have set his mind on this and thus, Nick knew, there was nothing to stop him from going through with it. He doubted this talk would achieve anything, but if it gave Hancock a bit of peace, it was enough.

 

Skyler got Hancock into Diamond City, by doing that thing where she stared at people a lot in a way that made them feel like she was sizing up their weak points. They were told to wait in the anteroom and there they were, Skyler by the window, reducing herself to the role of silent shadow, while Nick was with Hancock, holding his hand and pretending to be calmer than he was.

McDonough made them wait. It grated on Nick's patience, who knew the man didn't have any other guests and could bloody well interrupt his afternoon nap for this. But he kept quiet and, luckily, so did Hancock. Perhaps he was grateful to put this meeting off a little longer. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, having forsaken his usual getup in favour of something more inconspicuous. Without the red coat and hat no one recognised him as John Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor. He didn't want the general public to learn about his relation to McDonough.

Finally after what felt like hours, McDonough emerged. He was the definition of joviality up until he saw Hancock, upon which his face fell.

“What is this – this _thing_ doing here? Valentine, you damn well know our rules, what's the meaning of this?”

Nick didn't answer but took up his position to Hancock's left, while Skyler silently assumed the space to his right. Flanking him like this seemed to give Hancock the courage to speak.

“It's me, Robert. It's John.”

McDonough looked confused for a moment, as if even the name John had been thoroughly purged from his memory. Then recognition dawned.  
“Johnny? What happened to you?”

Hancock shrugged.

“I … It was an accident. I was out on a job, got hit by a radstorm, couldn't find shelter. I didn't … I thought you'd hate me.”

Nick carefully kept his face blank to give no indication of the fattest lie Hancock had spoken in a while. He understood his reasoning, knew in fact that pretty much everyone who claimed to know the truth about Hancock's ghoulification had another story, except for the few people in his life, like himself and Skyler, that he trusted.

“You think this changes anything?” McDonough said and something in his tone Nick didn't like. He stepped closer to Hancock just in case.

“I didn't-”  
“You were a nuisance even before, almost ruined my election with your damn ghoul-loving propaganda. What difference does it make that you look like one of them now? When you left Diamond City I could finally start building up a certain standard. I don't need you come crawling back now, because you need caps for drugs.”  
“I don't …”  
“Get out of my office or I'll have you removed.”  
“Now wait just a moment.” Skyler said, stepping forward and her hands already balled to fists. If no one stopped her there would be hell to pay for McDonough very soon. Nick for his part didn't feel inclined to stop her. Hancock apparently did.

“Don't. It's not worth it.” he said, sounding so defeated it broke Nick's heart. “Let's just … let's just go.”

They went, although Nick could tell Skyler didn't want to. Hancock didn't say much on their way to the agency, Skyler glaring at anyone who opened his mouth about a ghoul in the city.

And then they sat together in the agency, silent and each busy with their own thoughts. Skyler looked stormy and Nick expected she'd try to do something about the situation soon, thinking the ghouls had now an even fiercer ally in Skyler than they had before. He himself worried about Hancock. They'd both known there was little chance of a happy reunion but that had been on another level. He didn't think it would make him give up on life in general, but he'd rather not see Hancock unhappy.   
“How are you feelin'?” Nick asked when he felt enough time had passed. Hancock said nothing for a long while.

“I'm good. Seriously, I am.” he added when Nick made to object. “This didn't go the way I expected, but my brother's not responsible for my happiness anymore. I've got friends and Goodneighbor and you.” He leaned into Nick. “Could be better, could be worse.”

Nick said nothing. He knew Hancock remembered the last time he'd seen his brother.

 

“Call it off, I beg you!” he cried out, as below the screams of ghouls filled the streets. They were hauled out of their homes. If they fell, the guards dragged them along the streets. Children were crying. John was crying.

“Please, you're my brother, you're not a bad man. Don't let these people die. What do I have to do to make you stop this?”

His brother didn't even turn around. He watched the mayhem in the streets below and though Hancock couldn't see all of his face he realised with icy conviction that his brother was grinning.

“I did it, John. I finally did it.”

“Robert! God dammit, stop this madness. You got your wish, you're mayor. They have to listen to you, tell them to stop.”  
John surged forward and was grabbed by two guards. He fought against them but in their hands he was like a ragdoll. He gave up and when the guards released him he sank to his knees.

“Please, please …” he sobbed. He'd promised the ghouls that he would stop this. Said his brother would listen to him, that he would call off the attacks. But here he was, powerless, unable to help them.

“Even if I wanted to, John, I couldn't stop them. I was an instrument of the people. I am merely carrying out their will.”

“You're killing them. There's blood in the streets, your guards are shooting everyone who won't go quietly. You've turned a city into murderers. How … how could you do that? Why?”  
He didn't get an answer.

 

 


End file.
